


i'm still the king

by liesmith



Category: Cow Chop, The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Fake Chop, FakeChop, M/M, au where brett is kinda like james bodyguard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmith/pseuds/liesmith
Summary: he could keep killing people for a living, or...orbrett is a dog, loyal and aggressive





	i'm still the king

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Brett kind of hates how soft he’s gotten. This whole freelancer business got old an hour in; the same guys want you to do the same three things for them, and while Brett enjoys the money, it’s not like he splurges on himself or anything. Maybe a new succulent when the time’s right. So when a brat of some shitty low-tier gang asks him to be his personal bodyguard, Brett figures… why not. Something new to do until he gets bored and tells the kid to blow off, or blow the kid’s brains out. Either or.

But three months in, he doesn’t feel quite like that anymore. He just wishes the kid would stop getting kidnapped so Brett didn’t feel like blowing his own brains out.

It’s like James is a magnet for it. Walks around, looks dumb, and some guy just has to have him. Brett finds out pretty quickly that between him and the blond he works with, Aleks, they piss off a lot of people. And by a lot, it seems like every single person in the fucking state wants blood, and specifically, James’ blood. It’s kind of annoying. But Brett has a job to do, and if the job requires him to make sure James doesn’t get snatched at the fucking deli line in the grocery store, so be it.

That’s not how it works, though. That’s not how the universe decides for Brett and his shitty bodyguard freelance fucking life.

He was gone for a millisecond. Maybe a millisecond longer than he should have, though. Brett was just curious, poked around in the floral section of the grocery store, and then James is gone. Vanished. Who the fuck kidnaps at a grocery store? Despite how annoyed he feels, his heart still hammers, and Brett leaves the store, hand cautiously going to his waist as he scans the parking lot. James’ car is still here, the shitty grey four door. Nothing seems suspicious. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Fuck. Did he fuck this up this bad?

Brett tries to quell the panic rising in his throat like bile climbing, walking calmly to James’ car. He sits in the driver’s seat, grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, and exhales out in short breaths. Inhales on the count of three. Tries to exhale on the same count. It feels like eternity, but his phone buzzes in his pocket, and Brett exhales slowly as he pulls his phone from his pocket and stares at the screen where a message is displayed. It’s from James, so either the idiots learned his stupidly easy phone code, or James is safe. Could James be safe? He’s never been incapable of fighting on his own, tussling with shitheads, but…

Brett just rereads the message and fights his panic.

_sup shithead we got cha boy. we want our drugs back by tonight or else fingers start getting snipped. teeth too._

They also send a scissor emoji. Brett wants to smash his phone. Why were millennial punks the shittiest? 

* * *

 

It takes Brett half the evening to find the assholes who ruined his day. Aleks spills the information quickly, though Brett still has to threaten him to get it out. Seems the idiot thought he’d just do something on his own and piss off a bunch of Europeans. Great. He gets the location of the hideout and names before he sets off, kicking his bike’s stand up and taking off. It’s not subtle, or quiet, but it’s the fastest thing Brett has that isn’t his shitty square or James’ four door.

Plus, being quiet isn’t what he’s paid to do. Taking care of James is his job, and right now, some European chucklefucks think they’re gonna mess with that. Too bad Brett has other plans.

He skids to a stop a couple miles from their hideout. For European dramatics, it’s in an old power plant office. The power plants gone; the office is a skeletal form in the desert, just like any other abandoned building. He could be less dramatic too, just pick them off with a rifle, but that’s not how Brett’s gonna play this. No, he’s pissed, so he brought his shotgun, which is the most over dramatic thing he could do right now. But that’s fine. It’ll get him James.

* * *

 

The Europeans are less feisty then he imagined. Once one falls to the ground, gurgling and being just generally gross and bloody, they simmer down. One’s even kind enough to show Brett exactly where James is, tucked away in the back office. He’s tied up, typical. Blindfolded. He’s a little bloody, but that’s kind of to be expected, too. He looks intact, though, and that’s the biggest thing. Brett walks over and unties the scrap of fabric over James’ eyes, frowning down at him. James squints for a moment, adjusts to the dim light, and then laughs when he realizes it’s Brett in front of him.

“Sweet, dude. Thanks for coming.”

“You pay me,” Brett sighs, cutting the zip ties around James’ wrists with his knife, arm around the others’ bicep as he hauls James up and starts shoving him outwards. The place reeks of something or other, and Brett knows he’s going to spend too long in the shower trying to get rid of the smell. James doesn’t seem to care about anything except the fact he’s been kidnapped, hurling insults and jabs at the remaining Europeans. God. He was such an asshole. Brett shoves him hard, once, and James stumbles before catching himself and giving another laugh.

Such an asshole. 

* * *

 

James hugs so tight around him as they take off, head on Brett’s shoulder. God. He hates this part the most, probably. Saving James, killing guys, that’s nothing. That’s what he gets paid to do. Taking James home, undressing him and cleaning him up, patching the cut above his eye… that’s not what he’s paid to do. He’s not paid to follow James to his bed like a lost puppy, lay down besides him and burrow close, hold onto the man next to him. James cards his fingers through Brett’s hair, curls his fingers around the long strands in the back.

“How’d you find me?”

“Aleks told me,” Brett mumbles, voice thick and sleepy as he’s effectively pet like the dog he is. Loyal and aggressive. Fuck him, “he decided to mess with some people. I guess they figured he’d come for you, and not me. Even though... they texted me. Maybe they thought it was his phone.”

“Figures,” James mumbles, annoyed, “he always does this kinda shit.”

“I can reprimand him,” Brett hates how fast he says it. On command. Trained too.

“No, it’s fine,” James sighs soft, presses his thigh between Brett’s, getting even closer, “he’ll do whatever he wants. He’s, uh… feral, you know?”

So are you, Brett wants to say, but he just tilts his face up, presses his mouth against the soft pulse in James’ neck. “You sure?”

“Don’t punch him. He’ll have a bruise for weeks.”

“I won’t,” Brett promises, but he probably will still punch Aleks the next time he sees him. James can’t stop that. He just closes his eyes, burrows his face into the crook of James’ shoulder. He’s so warm, smells clean… Brett holds close onto him, hands rucking up the fabric of the way too big shirt James is wearing. He wants to say something, but there’s nothing that wouldn’t ruin this moment.

He’s glad when James speaks first.

“You sound so tired,” James coos at him, like he’s some soft, tiny creature, and Brett figures he might as well be to James. This isn’t a job about bodyguarding. This is a job about trying to have 0 feelings and failing, miserably, “go to bed, Brett. You deserve it.”

Brett deserves a lot of things. A new succulent. Maybe a couple of new shirts. Maybe a new life, far from the city, where nobody knows his name, or what he does. Maybe he could go back to film.

 But when James curls his fingers right under his chin, scratches at him like he’s a real dog, kisses soft at the shell of his ear…

There’s no other life then this, right here, right now.

**Author's Note:**

> merry chrysler here's the gift for my secret santa!


End file.
